The day broke at last, and, after repairing our bridles
as well as we could, we prepared to depart. We
wrapped the body of the dead lad in a blanket, and
laid it over the back of his horse to convey it to
our camp, where we might bury it according to the
rites of the English church. I examined the carpenter’s
leg, and found his hurt was, fortunately, only a flesh
wound. It gave him, nevertheless, great pain
to travel on horseback, but there was no other means
of conveying him to the camp. As we rode slowly
along, in the grey light of the morning, we caught
sight of the valley, the scene of our last night’s
misfortunes, and saw on the hill-sides two white-tented
emigrant wagons, with the horses quietly grazing down
in the bottom. Several of us rode towards the
spot, but found not a soul there. One of last
night’s mysteries was explained. The camp
we had at first taken to be an Indian one, and then
one of mountain robbers, was merely that of a few
emigrants, who, having crossed the pass in the Sierra
Nevada, were, doubtless, on their way to the Sacramento
Valley. In all probability, alarmed by the extraordinary
affair of last night, they had abandoned their wagons,
and sought concealment from the dangers which they
imagined surrounded them. We shouted out the words
“Friends,” “Americans,” and
other expressions, to give them confidence, if they
were within hearing, but we obtained no reply.
We, therefore, hastened to rejoin the remainder of
our party, and in about three hours tune we reached
the camp, cheering ourselves with the thought, as we
moved along, that we should find McPhail had returned.
But we were doomed to disappointment; there were no
tidings of him, and sorrowfully did we set to work
to dig poor Horry’s grave. After Malcolm
had read the service from the English Prayer-book
over him, we sawed off a pine-log, which was inserted
a couple of feet deep in the ground, and on the upper
part, which had been smoothed for that purpose, we
carved, in rude letters, his name, and the date of
his death.
CHAPTER XIX.
The party strengthen their defences
No tidings of McPhail
The trapper goes in search of him
Returns, having met with no success
McPhail makes his appearance accompanied
by guides
His adventures while away
Finds he is lost
Loses his rifle
No supper
Loses his horse
No food for three days
Sinks into a stupor
Is discovered by two Indians
Their humane treatment of him
They conduct him by slow marches to the
camp.
August 27th.—We have passed a heavy
but not very profitable week. Three days of our
time have been spent in strengthening our defences,
and we have had some severe labour in felling pine
trees and dragging them to the stockade. We have
driven sharpened stakes into the earth, and, after
laying the logs longitudinally within them, have twisted
the lighter boughs and brushwood of the trees in the
interstices. Before we began this task, however,
the trapper, Malcolm, and Lacosse started in search
of McPhail, but returned the same night (Sunday) unsuccessful.
In the meantime, my two patients got on favourably,
the pure air and temperate living doing more for the
wounds than medical skill could effect.
